Five Things I Hate About Being Diabetic

I try to be upbeat as much as I can. It isn't always easy, but I've been around long enough to have already tried many of the possible responses to life. At one point or another, I've used rage, whining, and liquor; eating until I was stupefied; buying things nobody needs; working until I just couldn't anymore; and throwing myself headfirst off the cliff of a highly questionable romance. None of those methods ever fixed anything for more than a minute. And all of them left me with some kind of negative fallout to deal with. So whether I feel like it or not, I try hard to take the road less traveled: seeing the glass half full (or whatever platitude comes to mind at the time).

But that doesn't change the fact that there are just some things I don't like -- or even hate -- no matter how positive I try to keep my attitude. Today, just to prove I'm not really made of sugar and spice and everything unrealistic, I'm going to admit to five of them.

In no particular order they are:

1) I hate that since I became diabetic, I can't be spontaneous the way I used to be. I once ran away with a bank robber and while I don't feel the need to repeat that particular piece of behavior, it was really problematic for me when I was trapped by a storm -- and running out of insulin -- at Chicago's O'Hare Airport over the Christmas break. I wanted to lessen others' burdens by wearing a smile, really I did. But it was all I could do not to throw myself screaming onto the floor like some of the toddlers were doing. I was so shell-shocked by the time I got home after thirty hours in a raincoat and knee-high boots, I didn't leave my apartment for three days.

2) I hate having to do exercise regularly if I want my blood glucose level to stay where it belongs. I'm in good enough shape that it doesn't take too much out of me to do it. And many days, it only amounts to thirty minutes of low impact, moderate intensity aerobics. But I'm one of those people who has made a life-long commitment to resisting direct orders. So -- even though I feel smug when I'm exercising and I feel great when I finish and I know I wouldn't do it if I didn't have to -- I hate having to.

3) Whenever I'm eating with other people (especially in a restaurant), I hate having to excuse myself and go to the bathroom to take my insulin. I've been insulin-dependent for nearly two years now and I've read about folks that take their shots in public, but I'm not there yet. If I order my food and immediately take my insulin, I run the risk of having my blood glucose crash before the food arrives, at which point I could be shaking too hard to eat it. But if I get engaged in conversation at the table, I may forget to make the trip to the bathroom until the food comes and then people -- who don't always feel comfortable eating without me -- sit there and watch their food get cold until I return. Or I may actually forget to take the insulin until after I eat (which is an option, but depending on how much time we spend hanging out over the meal, may mean my glucose level spikes in a way I don't want). In other words, it's complicated. And I hate that.

4) I hate that my stomach is getting poochy. Don't laugh. I know I'll be 70 in April, but I was one of those folks with a naturally flat stomach into my fifties. And when I was diagnosed diabetic and went down to a size 2 for five years, I wasn't fleshy enough anywhere to pooch. But when the insulin helped me to reach a size 6 and I started putting a needle in my abdomen four times a day, my stomach got squishy and it shows. I ultimately discovered on a diabetes website that the insulin does something to the Beta cells (whatever that means) which produces this effect. I'm sure I could probably tighten up to one degree or another with the right type and amount of exercise, but the problem is in the layer of fat on top of the muscles I'd be tightening. And besides, see the second item on this list.

5) I hate that I can't have whatever I want whenever I want it without any consequences. I know I'm not suffering. I eat good food and I enjoy it. I eat chocolate every day. And I have an occasional special treat (in moderation). But I can't have whatever I want whenever I want it without consequences. And that's all there is to that. The child inside me that somehow failed to grow up still rears her little head and surveys all she sees with a jaundiced eye. "Who dares to tell me no?" she seems to ask in a voice that threatens mayhem. While I'm getting wrinkles and untimely sprinkles and drooping eyelids and creaky knees, she hasn't aged a whit. And since nobody can hear her but me, she makes up for the lack of audience with lots of noise.

As I already mentioned, wallowing in frustration, self-pity, or fear doesn't fix anything, but I do hope it helps anyone who reads this to feel less alone with their own particular irritants. If you'd like to leave a comment on this post about what you hate about having to deal with diabetes, feel free.